Dan Williams

Same Old Way

There is a protection in being habitual, methodical,

even for we as dust motes to titans.

Less room for mistakes, less theoretical,

repetition breeds simplicity, but stifles nuance.

Still sameness, of it, after a while proves defeat for the spirit;

we cower casually, slowly rush to be frightened.

Igniting only futility, trying to keep your brain warm,

the right tool in the proper place, skillful hands, a thing of beauty.

Small control of violence makes you high.

Reach for a caliper, find it right where you measure these things;

what was, when you got there, time it took.

How can function be returned to electrical life?

Processes run down, spiraling to a stop, abruptly quit being habitual.

Songs you’ve known by heart for decades slip away

till only one method remains, can be a deadly serious choice

between sword or ruby, breath or sleep;

no amount of sameness improves this chance.